Chapter Nine

The Past ~ 1460

Dunstaffnage Castle, Scotland

"Ye're nae scairt are ye?" Bran asked Ross.

Ross thought about the question. He was cold, and it was dark, and he'd had to leave his mama. Fire was burning the world all around him, and though he knew Bran, he was acting funny, and he was holding that thing he'd called a branding iron, and the tip of it was on fire, too, or it looked to be anyway. He had a fierce desire to nod. He was scared, but his da always said laird's sons did nae have the luxury to feel fear, though his mama made a face whenever his da said that.

"Scairt or nae, lad, I have to brand ye," Bran said, kneeling in front of Ross as he looked past him toward the woods.

Ross turned to look into the thick woods they'd just galloped away from. "Are the monsters coming?"

Bran caught Ross by the chin, and he held him firm so that he and Ross were eye to eye. "Aye, lad, they're coming, and they'll nae stop until they're certain they've wiped out yer da's seed, so we have to disappear for bit."

A sound started in the distance like a rumble that floated on the air, then seemed to shake the ground where Ross stood. What he could feel of his toes was a steady ache, but he barely felt that. He tried to curl them into the ground, but he wasn't certain he'd accomplished the task. He tried again. He did not care for the way the mud squished between his toes. "If I'm with ye, why do ye need to brand me?" Ross asked, eying the iron. It looked like it would hurt him.

"In case I lose ye. Now, bite this."

Ross took the stick that Bran held out to him and clutched it between his teeth, but he took it out of his mouth on a thought. "I'm nae the only one being branded, am I? Because if so, that's nae fair!"

"Ye're nae the only one," Bran assured him, grabbed the stick from Ross's hand, and stuck it between Ross's teeth again. "Bite hard and dunnae scream. I dunnae want ye leading the MacDonalds to us."

"My da will stop the bad man," Ross said around the stick.

"Yer da is dead. Now bite."

Ross bit down, but tears filled his eyes. His da would be mad to see him crying, and so he blinked as hard and fast as he could, but that only made his vision blurry. He didn't see Bran bring the iron toward him until the hot metal touched his flesh. It hurt fiercely. It hurt so much he didn't think he could hold in the scream between the pain and his achy throat from his tears. He spit out the stick and howled. Bran clamped a hand over Ross's mouth, and Ross's nostrils flared in a desperate attempt to get air.

"God's blood," Bran cursed, grabbed Ross by the waist, and slung him onto the horse. "Ye've done it now."

"I'm sorry," Ross began to wail.

"Be sorry, but also be quiet," Bran said, swinging up behind Ross in the saddle, then giving the beast the signal to go. In a breath, they were galloping through the woods once more, but behind them a storm seemed to rage, shaking the ground with the force of its approach.

"I did nae mean to howl." Ross pressed a palm under the hot, pulsing flesh on his upper right chest. "It hurts," he said, managing now to control his tears. The whistling wind and the rumble of approaching horses were the only sounds he could hear from behind. "Bran?" he asked as an arrow whistled past him, and another, and another.

"Bran!" Ross shouted as a giant tree appeared on the path before them. Still no answer came from Bran, except a grunt.

Ross ducked just before they reached the tree branch. Behind him, a loud thwack came, and Bran disappeared. "Bran!" Ross screamed, wildly swiveling his head to locate Bran. He could see the man on the ground, face up, but he could only see part of Bran's face. The other part had a branch atop it.

Suddenly, the horse neighed, and Ross turned around just as the beast jerked to a shuddering halt. The motion sent Ross flying forward, and he hit the ground on the edge of an incline, smacking his head so hard that the hit took the moonlight and the stars and left him in darkness.